The first half hour of Jon Favreau's Iron Man retraces the path carved by Niccol's film. Tony Stark's access to wealth, women, and speedy toys grows with his success selling artillery, and he too nearly loses his life when the arms he sells are turned back in his own direction. Where Yuri remains relatively unphased by the discovery that his weapons are being used to massacre innocents, however, Tony's similar realization drives him to reinvent his profession and himself. He dons a metal mask and uses his technological skills to turn himself into a weapon for good. He fights for endangered innocents in the Middle East, then turns his attentions to the evil nestled in his own backyard.

Lord of War captures the depravity of war and preaches the hopeless self-interestedness of humanity, refusing as a pipe dream the optimist's vision of rehabilitation and redemption. This film ends where it began, with Yuri unwilling to extricate himself from the maladaptive course he has chosen.

Iron Man steps beyond the pale in which Niccol's film is trapped, and risks our credulity by suggesting that exceptional personal transformations do sometimes happen, and that active altruism does rear its head from time to time. Even more outrageous than the technological acrobatics which undergird Favreau's comic book film is this notion that a self-absorbed hedonist can become a selfless hero--and that he might just do so by stepping into a role his soul is not yet mature enough to fill . . .

Maturity, for many metaphorically minded Christians, involves a distinct movement inwards. The true state of one's soul is to be found within, beneath, and behind; and a turn towards righteousness requires exposing the hidden so it can be either refined or eliminated. Jesus, after all, calls us to unveil the light of Truth instead of hiding it (Mark 4:21-22), and likens unrepentant hypocrites to "white-washed tombs" whose insides are filled with the sin belied by their socially approved exteriors (Matthew 23:27). By this rubric, the putting on of masks and costumes constitutes an egregious act of self-deception, a burial of what needs to be exhibited and confessed.

In chapter six of Ephesians, however, St. Paul suggests that the adoption of certain figurative costumes--far from covering up our true nature--can actually jumpstart a process of spiritual refinement, emboldening the weak soul to pursue a heroic course of action. We are not, it would appear, required to prove ourselves high-caliber spiritual warriors before putting on the breastplate of righteousness and helmet of salvation. The training process begins when we suit up and take hold of the shield of faith with one hand and the sword of the Spirit with the other.

So it is with Stark, who puts on an actual suit of armor well before he has figured out all the ins and outs of how it works, deciding it is more important to go in swinging immediately in the defense of justice than to carefully map out a plan of attack. Battle itself becomes the necessary crucible for honing one's weapons, perfecting their usage, and, in the process, transforming one's character. And it is the costume which enables this, inspiring even as it equips.

We should all be so bold.